I'll be cleaning that first, sweeping, rearranging and making room for more stuff, which should only take about an hour. Then I'll be on to the real work of putting all the stuff we want to get rid of in the back of the pickup and taking it to various charities around town. That will be enough for one day, I think. I'm not 25 anymore.
I'm still not used to this pacing myself crap. I'm used to having more energy than three people half my age (and I still do, most of the time), so having to pace myself isn't easy. Especially when I know I could still do more but mustn't because of how I'll feel the next day. That's a cruel punishment simply for having lived to see one's 60s. But then, if viewed cynically, life is a cruel joke in and of itself. I mean, what else could it be when you live so long, learn so much, and just as you're figuring things out you have to leave? But I don't see this joke as either a reason or a fruit of cynicism, I see it as something utterly hilarious. You know, that The Grass Is Always Greener Over the Septic Tank kind of hilarious. The kind that makes you laugh until you cry, and then you laugh again. Kind of like politics lately.
On Saturday I'll be organizing the rest of the space (because the workbench area is Micah's domain, he's already gotten that organized and tidied) to make room for the car. I refuse to let either Lynette or I scrape snow off of another car window when we have a perfectly fine garage. Then, on Sunday, I'll carry the stuff we want to keep but don't use up into the attic. That'll be the real trial... up and down the ladder carrying stuff... After everything's done I'll bomb both the garage and the attic for spiders—and there are many left over from the hot, sticky summer.
I don't mean for this entry to be so boring. To relieve this, here's a picture of what I'd rather do this weekend:
|Enjoying a salmon salad at a sidewalk|
cafe in Solvang, complete with an
excellent local Pinot Grigio.